


Trying to Find the In-between

by nutmeag83



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence season 9, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Endgame Destiel, F/F, Fanfiction, Femslash February, I promise these ships make sense in context, M/M, Metafiction, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Anna Milton, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Gilda, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Rowena MacLeod, Post-Season/Series 10, and also she ships destiel, charlie bradbury ships every female character with herself, dean ships sam winchester/eileen leahy, endgame charlie bradbury/dorothy baum, mentions of possible sam winchester/eileen leahy, sam winchester ships himself with sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Charlie talks with the various bunker inhabitants about relationships and fanfiction. It’s only a little meta. ;)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Castiel, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Sam Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury
Kudos: 6





	1. The mood, it changes like the wind

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Femslash February (she slides in, just under the wire)! I’m sort of copping out of writing a femslash fic by throwing in some Destiel with it … but there really are all the pairings mentioned in the tags here in this fic, so I’m not lying! It’ll make sense when you read it, and Charlie gets a real HEA, promise. 
> 
> This is canon divergence from S9. In this ‘verse, Chuck kept writing SPN books until at least S10, and Charlie’s story diverges from the end of S10. The mark of Cain was removed with no problems, there is no British MoL, and Cas removed his grace (bc LOVE).
> 
> I mention a few tags at the beginning of each chapter. These mostly apply to the fanfic portions of the story, though there is some mirroring with larger story arc as well. Also, in the cases of explicit tags, nothing explicit is actually shown. Just implied. This fic will stay rated T. :)
> 
> Fic and chapter titles come from the song [“Young Blood,”](https://youtu.be/jQlqaTTD04w) specifically the Birdy version. 
> 
> Not beta’d. Sorry, my dudes.

**_Charlie/Rowena – Plot? What Plot?_ **

_“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”_

_The voice could have been saccharine, but there was a throaty awareness to it that made Charlie clench her hands into fists. She whirled to see the last person she ever thought she’d see again slinking into the room, her dress shimmering in the low light._

_“Rowena.” She’d meant to sound accusatory, but it came out more of a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I thought you were off to scatter evil deeds around the world,” she accused, tossing her hair._

_“Well, it’s easiest to start local and work your way up, dearie.” Rowena cocked her head, red hair and nails glinting in a way that mesmerized Charlie. “And I might say the same of you. Don’t you have,” she fluttered her hand sinuously, “computers to break into or something?”_

_Charlie smirked slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know, witch.” She waltzed through the library, coming to a stop in front of the witch. She tried to ignore how hard her heart was pounding, being so close to the powerful, older, beautiful redhead. “Plus, I asked you first. Don’t you have a moon to dance naked under or something?”_

_Rowena raised an eyebrow, eyeing the younger woman up and down. “Are you offering your company?”_

_A gasp caught in Charlie’s throat as the woman ate up the distance between them. This was ridiculous. Rowena was her enemy, or at least, she was someone she shouldn’t like. She was evil. And mean. But she was also beautiful. And worldly. And standing so close, smelling of cinnamon, incense, and something uniquely Rowena._

_The older woman stopped a mere two inches away, and Charlie could feel her soft breath on her cheek, and despite trying to fight it, she could feel her own breath speed up. Would it be so bad to give in? It would just be a one-night fling. And it had been a while since she’d last done the horizontal mambo. She bit her lip in indecision. The Winchesters would kill her if she slept with the enemy. But her libido might kill her if she didn’t … Before she could decide, Rowena took it from her hands, swooping in to cup Charlie’s face, her glistening lips crashing into Charlie’s._

What the fuck, might as well, _Charlie had just enough time to think before she melted in the older woman’s hands. Her own came up to clasp Rowwphea_

***

“What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

“What? No. I’m not- I mean … nothing?”

Dean watched Charlie scramble both her words and herself at the kitchen table. He raised an eyebrow, then began digging through the fridge for the leftover pasties he knew he’d stashed the day before. He wouldn’t admit it to Sam, but the weird British place they’d stopped at for lunch on the way home from their last hunt was actually really good. Pasties were like Hot Pockets but with better crust and better filling. Genius. Also, the name apparently wasn’t pronounced the same as the (tasteful) implements used by strippers. Sam had laughed for an hour after Dean made that mistake. Bitch. It’s not like Dean was British. How was he supposed to know? He finally found the box where he’d hid it behind Cas’s two-week-old spaghetti. Dude needed to throw that shit out. Dean wondered if he’d had a chance to learn about food going bad last time he was human. Probably not. He’d survived on PB&Js and beans on toast, apparently. He should start up human lessons, now that Cas was human again. For good, apparently. And living in the bunker. Also for good, it seemed. He pushed down the excitement at the thought and straightened back up, food in hand.

He glanced over at his extremely flustered friend as he switched on the oven. It didn’t take a seasoned hunter to know Charlie was hiding something. But it’d probably take one to get her to spill.

“You know,” he said casually as he leaned his hip against the oven. “When we said you could come play with our computers, I didn’t think you meant the laptops.”

Charlie smoothed her hair, trying and failing to look chill. Dean held back a smile. How she managed to question witnesses boggled the mind.

“Oh, you know.” She laughed nervously and fluttered her hands. “Needed to look a thing up.”

“Is ‘thing’ the technical term?” he asked, putting on his mock serious face.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I was using caveman language so you would understand, assface.”

Dean grinned. Annoying Charlie was almost as fun as annoying Sam, which meant she really was like a little sister to him. The thought warmed him. Sam would always be his number one, ride-or-die sibling, but that didn’t mean Dean had no room in his heart for other family.

“So, were you able to figure out ‘the thing?’”

“Oh. Um. Yup! Got it all … figured out … yeah. In fact. I should–”

Charlie’s fumbled explanation was interrupted by a breathless Sam, smudged with something gray on his face and arms.

“Um, the computer is, um, on fire?” His face was scrunched as he pointed his thumb behind him in the vague direction of the computer hub room.

“What?” Charlie screeched, getting to her feet and hurrying to the kitchen door. “I told you not to touch anything!”

They both left the room, still arguing. Sam claimed he hadn’t touched a thing, while Charlie scoffed, their voices getting fainter as they hurried down the hall. Dean chuckled and shook his head while he put the pasties on a pan then shoved it into the ancient oven. The heavy door clanged shut, and Dean turned to the kitchen door, thinking he’d follow the others to see what all the fuss was about. He could stand around and laugh while they tried to avert some technology emergency. Before he could leave the room, though, his eye caught the laptop (his, he thought, which, how did she figure out the pass- oh wait, she was a hacker, never mind) still sitting open on the table. He studied it a moment. There was a chance Charlie hadn’t managed to close out of whatever porn she’d been watching before she’d exited the room in a frenzy.

Grinning wider, Dean strolled over to the table and slid into the seat Charlie had vacated. He tilted the screen back and frowned. It was just a Google doc, the cursor blinking innocently at the end of a paragraph. Then a word caught his attention. _Rowena_? Was Charlie writing to her? Oh. No. Dean tried to rub the grin off his face. It _was_ porn. Or the start of it. Dean had apparently interrupted Charlie before she could get to the good stuff. Of course, there was a big question about it all. Why was Charlie writing about a seductive encounter with _Rowena_ of all people? Had they _actually_? No. Surely not. He scanned the words, but it was too vague to know if this little story was real or fantasy. Either way. Ick.

He clicked over to the next tab, which was for a site called _Archive of Our Own_. Ugh. Boring. They had rooms of archives there at the bunker. He didn’t care about some online thing that- Wait. At the top left it said _Find your favorites_ , and under that was a list of names.

_Castiel (Supernatural)/Dean (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural)/Anna (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural)/Bela (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural)/Dorothy Baum (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural)/Gilda (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural)/Hannah (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural)/Meg (Supernatural)  
Charlie (Supernatural) & Dean (Supernatural) & Sam (Supernatural)  
Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam (Supernatural)  
Jessica (Supernatural)/Sam (Supernatural)  
Supernatural_

At first, he was confused. Charlie didn’t even know most of the people on the list. Then he saw that some had slashes and some had _&_ symbols, and it hit him. Slash. He remembered a conversation with Sam from a million years ago, back when they first learned about Chuck’s damned series. Slash, like Dean-slash-Sam. Like sexual relationships. This was a fucking fanfiction site. And these was apparently the types of stories Charlie read, if they were on a favorites list. Most of them made sense, they were about her. But why were he and Cas (nope nope nope, don’t think about it), Sam and Gabriel (what the ever-loving fuck?), and Sam and Jess on there? And then him, Sam, and Charlie, with the _&_ between their names. If slash was sexual, what was _&_? Romantic? Dear God, he hoped not. He clicked on it, flinching like the link would come through the computer screen and punch him. The results that popped up looked innocent enough, once he decoded what things meant. Apparently the _&_ just meant friendship? Most of the stories also had slashed pairings too. A _lot_ of them were him and Cas ( _Destiel_ his brain taunted him in Sam’s voice), but there were quite a few with Sam and Gabriel, and a good chunk with Charlie and Dorothy.

He was trying to decide if he wanted to click on any of them when the timer for his lunch went off. He grabbed his food and settled back down at his computer, but before he could eat or read, Castiel walked through the door sniffing. The guy had become very in tune with food since his re-humaning. Dean swore he could be across the entire bunker and still know when food was ready. It was impressive. Leftover grace, maybe? But this was Dean’s food. Those pasties were damn good, and they were all _his_. He wasn’t going to share, not even if Cas gave him … shit, there he went. Those damn, huge, blue eyes. He practically looked like an anime character. Dan sighed and pushed the plate to the center of the table and waved at it. Cas’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly sat down across the table.

“One, you get _one_. The other two are mine, capiche?”

Cas nodded and grabbed one, only to drop it again, looking at his fingers like they’d betrayed him. “It’s hot,” he pouted. It wasn’t adorable. It. Was. Not.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, buddy. I just got them out of the oven.” He looked back at the computer screen so he could hide any heart eyes he might have for his friend.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, giving his fingers a final frown and rub. Then he clasped his hands together on the table and gave Dean his full attention. Even without grace, he still had a crazy-intense stare. Dean hoped that at least he couldn’t read minds anymore. He hadn’t been brave enough to ask if Cas retained any abilities after he’d lost his grace. Anna had, what with the moving things with her brain and the angel radio antenna, but how they’d each gone about the grace removal was different, so who knew.

“Uh. Reading.”

Cas nodded. “Possible case?”

“No. Fa-, uh -ntasy?” He was not about to explain fanfiction, or why he was reading it (well, looking at it), to Cas. Dude did not need to be anymore confused than he already was by humanity.

Trusting as always, Cas just nodded again. “I hope you’re enjoying it.”

Dean frowned down at the screen. “Unclear, so far.” He closed the lid and grabbed a pasty. Damn, that crust was perfect, even reheated. He’d have to look into making them himself. He’d been working on pie crust for a while. Surely if he could do that, he could do this. Cas gave his own grunt of pleasure, pulling Dean’s attention away from his food. Granted, most things Cas did pulled his attention. He sighed in defeat. He’d figure out how to treat Cas like everyone else eventually, but apparently not today.

“So, what have you been up to this morning?” he asked.


	2. Hard to control when it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a Charlie/Gilda fic and Dean teases Charlie about writing fanfic before wondering if he's allowed to be happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned previously, even though Charlie’s story is labeled Porn with Feelings in this chapter, we don’t see any of the … passionate bits. ;)

**_Charlie/Gilda – Porn with Feelings_ **

_“You go off to battle tomorrow, my queen.” Charlie whirls to see her handmaiden Gilda standing at the entrance of her tent. She takes a step into the tent, her big brown eyes glint in the candlelight. “You might die.”_

_“My army is strong, my generals strategic. I have faith.” Despite her words, Charlie is a little concerned. Even if Moondoor wins, that’s no guarantee Charlie will survive the battle. Her generals have tried to talk her out of fighting, but she can’t just stand back and let others fight for her. This is her queendom. It deserves her lifeblood, if need be._

_“But what if you die?” Gilda asks, as if reading her mind. She walks a few steps farther. Half a tent away now. Her hands are clasped so tightly that her knuckles are white._

_Something tightens in Charlie’s chest. Lovely, kind Gilda, who has been by her side since she became queen. It’s been the best and worst thing, having her nearby all these years. So close, but so far away. Some days she thinks the brunette is the only one who really gets her, sees her as a person, but they can never be more than queen and handmaiden. But perhaps … they could have tonight? Just in case._

_Decision made, Charlie takes her own steps forward. One quarter of a tent away. Her throat aches with fear and need and … and love._

_As always, the other woman knows exactly what she needs. She takes the final few steps to her queen. Her hand comes up to caress Charlie’s cheek. Charlie’s breath catches, and she brings up her own hands to cup her lovely handmaiden’s sweet face. Her eyes track down to soft, full lips. She wastes only a breath before swooping in to capture them with her own._

_It’s sweet and slow and hot and perfect. She can tell with just one kiss that this night will be better than any other she’s spent with a woman, but also the worst, because it can only be this one night. She pulls back far enough to see Gilda’s face, which is both smiling and tearful._

_“It’s better to have love and lost, my queen,” she whispers before taking charge with a kiss of her own._

_“I don’t deserve you,” Charlie choked out in return._

_“But I love you anyway, beloved.”_

***

The fire had been put out in short order, but Charlie had spent the rest of the afternoon first trying to figure out what caused it, then on fixing it. She looked at her phone to see it was almost seven in the evening. No wonder her stomach felt like it was trying to claw its way up her throat. She hadn’t eaten since the biscuits and gravy Dean had made for breakfast. Damn, that man was good in the kitchen, which both did and didn’t surprise Charlie. On the one hand, toxic masculinity was strong in him, but on the other, he’d do anything for good food. An enigma … Ah well. Charlie got good meals out of it, so who was she to question it.

She entered the kitchen in hopes of finding dinner or leftovers or something to stop her stomach growling like a werewolf looking at its next meal. “Score,” she said, seeing a plate of lasagna on the table. The table that, seven hours ago, had housed Dean’s laptop … _Mother forking shirt balls_. In the fire excitement, she’d forgotten to close out her tabs, sign out of her account, and wipe the history. Dean was never going to let her live this down. Her only hope was that he was just as pervy as she was and that he’d congratulate her on her fake conquests. She grabbed the plate, warmed it up, and went looking for Sam for more computer talk. He’d abandoned her at some point after the smoke cleared, but they’d mentioned chatting further after she’d finished putting out (now figurative) fires.

Unfortunately, it was Dean sitting in the library, not Sam. Dean liked to pretend he wasn’t just as nerdy as the rest of them, but Charlie had heard him expound on Tolkien, Vonnegut, and anime, so he definitely wasn’t fooling her. Unfortunately again, he wasn’t reading a secret stash of sci-fi, he was instead on his laptop. The laptop with the incriminating evidence. Charlie winced and tried to back out of the room before he saw her, but his superior hunter-trained peripheral vision caught her out. He looked up and smiled. It was an evil smile. She cursed silently.

“Uh, hey, Dean … o. How’s it … hanging?”

Dean’s grin widened. Hell and damnation. This was not going to go well.

“It’s _awesome_ , Charlie. Simply amazing. Wonderful. I’m having the _best_ day ever.”

“Oh, did you and Cas finally kiss?” she somehow had the wherewithal to ask. Score one for Bradbury. There, take that, Winchester.

Dean’s face went from smug to panicked in about two nanoseconds. “Wh- what? No, What? We wouln- It’s not li- Don’t deflect, Bradbury!” He finally gathered himself up and pointed at her. “ _You_ write fanfiction! And read it.” His smug face was back. Score, Winchester.

Charlie folded into the chair across from him, knowing that if she tried to run, he’d just follow. Plus, she was starving. She dug into the lasagna with her fork and waved at him with her other hand. “Fine. Give it to me.” It’s not like there was anything to be ashamed about. More that Dean could tease long and hard on any subject at all. And the Rowena fic was a really rough draft, so there was plenty of fodder there.

“Think about the queen witch much?”

“It’s a character exercise,” she ground out around a—fucking delicious—bite of cheesy pasta and tomato sauce.

“Ah, yes. The character deep down. Under her … dress, if I’ve got the gist right?” Dean gave her a shit-eating grin that she wanted to punch off his face. How did Sam do it? She could barely last thirty hours; he’d lasted more than thirty years. He must channel it into ganking monsters and fighting angels and demons.

“Fuck you, Winchester. I’ve seen your porn collection, _including_ the tenta–”

“It’s a classic!” Dean blustered as his face turned red, making Charlie give him her own knowing grin. Another point to Bradbury.

“Well, I’m not ashamed of my sexual or reading preferences. Whatever gets the job done, am I right?”

Dean looked like he might agree, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. He fiddled with the touchpad for a few minutes, and Charlie just watched him. She might actually do some good, if she gave him the space to ask questions. The sexual/romantic tension between him and Cas was massively cluttering the entire bunker, and Sam had done nothing to fix it, so she guessed it was up to her to try next.

“Isn’t it weird, reading stories other people wrote about your sex life? Like, you writing them at least makes sense, because that’s not really different from what you think about when you get off, right? Just more incriminating. But other people thinking about you having sex? Isn’t that creepy?” Dean looked confused but also intrigued.

Charlie shrugged and used her fork to play with the leftover cheese and sauce on her plate. She wasn’t exactly a prude. But, weirdly, Dean kind of was, despite his bluster and bravado and womanizing (and porn collection). “I guess it was in the beginning? A little? But once you get over that first hump—haha, hump—it’s kind of better? I mean, it’s not that different than masturbating versus having someone else do it for you. You don’t know where exactly it’ll go, and that’s hot. But that’s just the PWP stuff. When you add in feelings, dang, some of those stories are really fucking good. I’ve definitely cried once or twice.”

Dean looked like a deer in the headlights. “ _Feelings_?” Charlie smirked. Then Dean’s face morphed to confused. “Wait. What’s PWP?”

“Like you didn’t look it up.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t even really read anything other than a couple of opening paragraphs to see what it was. Ew, you’re my little sister. That’d be like walking in on Sammy with a girl. Ugh.”

Aha. An opening. “Well, if you were on ao3, you would’ve seen one of the tags I’ve got favorited is you and that dreamy angel of yours.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

His face was the color of the sauce on her plate, and his mouth gaped while he tried to figure out what to say. He finally hid his face behind his hands and sighed. “One, you read porn about me and Ca- porn about me. Gross. Two, stop using confusing acronyms. Three, ew.”

She laughed. “PWP is _porn without plot_ or _plot what plot_. I only read those when I’m one of the participants. For all my other friends, it’s teen and under ratings only. You know, fluffy domestic fics or getting together fics. Ao3 is shorthand for _Archive of Our Own_. And no, it’s not ew to read cute little stories about your friends falling in love. I care about you all, and I like reading things where you’re happy. Plus, it might give me ideas.”

Dean looked suddenly very worn down. “Ideas?”

“For how to get you your HEA—happily every after,” she added when he glared at her new acronym.

“Charlie …” He dropped his hands completely and looked at them lying on the table. “We’re hunters. We don’t get happy. We get alive or dead, that’s it. Hunters exist so other people can have their _HEAs_.” The acronym was dripping with sarcasm, but the rest of his statement was just … resigned. It made Charlie’s breath catch painfully.

“Damn it, Winchester. You deserve an HEA more than most. You, Sam, Cas, all the hunters I’ve met. You do so much for everyone else. Why can’t you have something good too?”

“Good is for civilians, Char. Not us.” He glanced toward the door that led to the bedrooms and rubbed his neck, his face full of longing.

“No.”

“What?”

“Just _no_. You’re allowed to have just as much good as anyone else. Every single human makes shitty decisions. You were just unlucky enough to live a life where your decisions affect more than yourself. That doesn’t mean you should be punished for the bad lot you were dealt.”

“I’ve killed–”

“And you’ve saved! Not that that matters. You’re _human_. You deserve love and happiness. So does Cas. So does Sam.”

“And you?” Charlie thought she saw the tiniest spark of hope in his eyes, but his smile was wry.

She gave him a slightly more hopeful one in return. “Yeah, even me.”

“With Rowena?”

That made her bark out a laugh. “Ummm, maybe not. But someone. Someday. Yeah.”


	3. Only temporary escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlie writes through her pain and Sam talks through his

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag for Charlie’s fic in this chapter is MCD. We don’t see any death on screen, but death is both mentioned and implied in the story. This tag does _not_ extend to the larger story arc. However, in the larger story arc, Sam contemplates Jess’s death and his loss. See end notes for details on the tags.

**_Charlie/Dorothy Baum – Unhappy Ending/MCD_ **

_Charlie knew it was a djinn dream. Even if she hadn’t remembered the attack, this world was too happy, too perfect. She lived in a gorgeous house, had a job she loved, she didn’t have to run away every year. She had … Dorothy. Even just thinking about her made Charlie’s throat ache. This Dorothy was too perfect, just like the rest of this fake world, but even that uncanny valley didn’t stop her from_ wanting _it to be true. Perhaps it was better to stay here, where she was loved and happy. Where a lifetime would pass in peace, even if she only lived a few days in the outside world. Where Dorothy was still alive, even if she was slightly … off._

_As if thinking about her conjured her up—and who knew, maybe it did in the djinn dream world—Dorothy popped her head into Charlie’s home office, sly smile firmly in place. In some ways, she was very real. Just … slightly too obsessed with making sure Charlie was happy._

_“Hey, doll. I’m running to the store. Need anything? I thought we’d do burgers tonight, since the Winchesters are joining us.”_

_Charlie’s smile was only half forced. She’d been playing her role well, even when it hurt. “You just like taunting Dean that yours are better.”_

_Dorothy lifted a dark eyebrow, her eyes sparkling. “They_ are _better.” She walked up to Charlie and dropped a kiss on her head. “Be back in a bit. Call if you need me to grab anything.” She caressed Charlie’s neck. “Love you.”_

_Charlie’s façade dropped for a moment, but she breathed through the pain and smiled back. “Love you too.”_

_In the way of djinn dream logic, Charlie was suddenly in an evening-lit version of their fake backyard, the scent of grilling meat wafting from a lit grill, Dean and Dorothy arguing over cooking methods, Sam and Cas discussing magical wards, and a woman Charlie knew was Sam’s wife_ _—even though she’d never met her in her life_ _—stood next to her, talking about her latest hunt. Her name was apparently Carrie. She and Sam had met on a hunt, Charlie remembered without actually remembering. And then suddenly they were all seated at the large picnic table on the deck, eating and laughing._

_Charlie was used to these time jumps by now, but she hated how they took her out of this cozy, soft, easy world she now inhabited. She wanted to forget. She wanted this to be real. She wanted to not remember that she was dying. That Dorothy had died months ago, when Charlie had fled from Oz. She took a deep breath and looked at the happy faces around her. She wanted this, so much. Would it be so bad to keep it? What was her life outside of here? Disappointing. Hard. Heartbreaking. Here, she could have what she wanted. She just had to give up one little thing._

_A burst of laughter brought her back to the scene. Dean and Sam were bickering, as always. Carrie and Cas looked on fondly. Her family. The people she loved most (and Carrie). This was good. This was what life should be._

_She felt a nudge on her shoulder and turned to see Dorothy—her_ wife _—smiling at her softly. “What a perfect night. I love these nights. Don’t you?”_

_Charlie frowned but nodded._

_Dorothy cocked her head, concern marring her pretty brow. “Darling, is everything alright?”_

_“Yeah, just … taking it all in, I guess. You’re right. It is perfect.”_

_Dorothy beamed at her. “Good. I want you to have perfect. You deserve perfect.”_

_“Why?”_

_Dorothy’s grin faded just a bit. “Because …_ you’re _perfect.”_

_Charlie shook her head, her chest hurting. “No, I’m not. And I don’t_ want _perfect. I want real. I want you to be real, and this life. It’s too perfect. It doesn’t feel right.”_

_Dorothy sat a bit straighter, nodding. “Yes, of course. We can be better. I mean,_ less _better.” She winked. “We can be what you need.”_

_“But …”_

_“You want love, right? Happiness. But not perfection. You …” she studied Charlie a moment. “You want me to have a life outside of you. I can do that.” She got the others’ attention. “I’m feeling like a hunt. Anything on the grapevine?”_

_Sam nodded, perhaps too eagerly. “Yeah, just got word of a salt and burn in Florida. You guys want it?”_

_Dorothy’s resolved expression was cute. “No. Well, not Char. Just me.”_

_A look of understanding dawned on his face. “Yeah, great. It’s yours. I’ll let Kevin know.”_

_Dorothy grinned first at Sam, then at Charlie. “Good.” She booped Charlie’s nose. “You can stay here and be my Q.”_

_Charlie felt something lighten in her chest. Of course she could be Q. She was always Q for her amazing, talented hunter wife. A part of her always worried when Dorothy went on a hunt, but it was good for them to each do what they were best at. It was how every couple at this table worked. Perfect teams, every one of them. The thought made Charlie smile._

_“You’re happy now, aren’t you?”_

_The use of ‘now’ confused Charlie. Had she not been happy before? She didn’t remember that. She was always happy. She had a great life, a great job, a great wife. They had their issues and stresses, but in an imperfect world, things were as perfect as they possibly could be._

_“Yeah, of course I’m happy, babe.” Charlie leaned in to kiss her wife, which made everyone else at the table except for Cas throw balled up napkins at them and groan dramatically. She ignored them and deepened the kiss just a bit. “I couldn’t ask for anything better.”_

***

Sam dragged himself into the kitchen post-run, needing a caffeine pick-me-up before cleaning up and getting started on the day’s to-do list. Charlie sat at the table with her tablet and an empty mug, so deep into whatever she was reading that she didn’t even notice his entrance. After filling his own mug, he held up the carafe and cleared his throat. Charlie jumped, and he bit back a smile.

“Refill?” he asked, an eyebrow up in both question and amusement.

“Oh.” She chuckled nervously. “Um, yeah, please.”

He filled her mug, then doctored his own while he watched her nervously wipe the screen clear, close the cover, and place both of her arms folded over it. He wondered …

“What’s your ship of choice this morning?”

“Ship? What? No boats here!” He merely looked at her with the deadface that worked on Dean every time. She sighed. “Damn it, Dean! He’s such an old woman gossip. Prude as one too,” she muttered.

Sam laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

That made her smile and relax. “Okay. Lay it on me. I guess if Dean gets to ask me questions, you deserve the same honors. I’m not embarrassed,” she said, pointing a finger at him and narrowing her eyes.

“No judgement here,” Sam said, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I read some of the teen-rated stuff. It’s very sweet. Happy.”

“Finally! A man who gets me.” Her arms stopped guarding her tablet, but she didn’t open it again.

“That’s why you read it, right? To see us get the happy endings we haven’t gotten in real life?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes, yeah. And sometimes it’s just for the porn. Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “But not with any of you. Just me and my ladies. Promise.”

He laughed. “I believe you.”

She studied him a moment. “What is it you read for, Sam?”

He looked down at the table, fingers tracing the gouges in the surface. The answer was going to make him sound pathetic. “Jess and I were so young when we were together—God, that was a lifetime ago, when the hardest thing in my day was passing the LSATs—but I don’t think anyone has made me as happy as she did. She was amazing. Funny, intelligent, pushed me in the best way. I still miss her sometimes.” He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing frustrated fingers over them. “D’you know, when Dean was in that djinn dream world, she was still alive? We got engaged.” Shit, how did this still affect him after all these years? He was over her, he really was, but sometimes, when the hunter life was especially hard, he remembered loving her. And losing her. And it hurt all over again. A soft hand covered his own hand still lying on the table. He pulled his other hand from his eyes and opened them.

He could tell that Charlie wasn’t looking at him with pity. She had her own history with death. She looked sympathetic and knowing. World weary. “I read djinn dream fics about those I’ve lost, too.”

He choked out a bitter laugh. “So I’m not pathetic?”

She gave him a wavering smile. “Oh no, you’re totally pathetic, we both are. But there’s a catharsis in it, I think. The story always ends with our loved ones still dead, but there’s an acceptance, a realization that they’re gone from our lives, but not our hearts. And even though we need to move on from them in our waking life, that doesn’t mean we can’t have happy dreams about them in sleep.”

Sam nodded, feeling a little lighter at the words. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m a genius.”

The dark mood lifted from the kitchen, and it was just a normal morning again. His laugh, when it came, wasn’t forced. “Right. Moving on …” He looked at her seriously. “Question.”

“Forty-two.”

“Okay, Deep Thought.” He held her gaze for a minute. “Sabriel? Really?”

She cackled. “You’d be so cute together! It’s the classic straight man/funny guy pairing. You can’t go wrong!”

“Charlie, he made me watch Dean die hundreds of times.”

“Every relationship has its problems.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling. It felt good to tease again. Their lives had been too serious lately. “You’re so weird.”

She shrugged and said nothing, but her grin was a little wicked.

“Snowball’s chance in hell,” was his reply. Then he had a wicked though of his own. “Now, Destiel, on the other hand …”

She nodded in frustration. “I’m working on it, my dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The MCD refers to Dorothy’s death, which is mentioned in Charlie’s fic (canon divergence again, in that Charlie thinks she left Dorothy to die in Oz). And the fic ends with Charlie choosing to stay in a djinn dream, which implies her death as well. On top of that, there are some suicidal thoughts, as Charlie fights herself on whether to stay in the dream or not. Skip to the *** if you need to.
> 
> Sorry, y’all, this went a bit darker than expected. I can tell you that there _is_ a happy ending for Charlie and Dorothy.


	4. We lie beneath the stars at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlie writes a soulmate fic and Castiel wishes for a soulmate in real life

**_Charlie/Anna – Friends to Lovers/Soulmates_ **

_The skin over her heart was still unblemished, and she rubbed at the blank spot with annoyance. Over half of her friends already had their marks, but not Charlie. At the ripe age of thirty-one, she still had no idea who her soulmate could be. Not that she_ needed _one. She knew not everyone had one. Or that some people ended up not working out with their soulmate. Or that they fell in love with someone else instead. Soulmates were not the end-all, be-all of life. Her parents weren’t soulmates, but Charlie had never seen anyone happier than the two of them had been. Even when they fought, Charlie saw their love and commitment to each other. It was kinda disgusting, seeing as they were her parents, but she’d been happy that they’d been happy._

_Charlie’s problem extended from something not quite soulmate-related, though. Or, well, sort of. Her best friend, Anna, put all of her hopes and dreams on finding and loving her own soulmate. It was the one area where the two of them just couldn’t see eye to eye, and Charlie was beginning to really worry. She’d been in love with Anna since she was fifteen, but because fifteen years was a long time to be in love without a mark appearing, it meant they weren’t soulmates. Marks took time to appear, but usually just a few years, after the two people got to know each other and fell in love. And while normally Charlie would be all for snubbing tradition and marrying someone who wasn’t her soulmate, Anna could never do that._

_And also, there was the fact that Anna could never love her like Charlie loved her. They might be two peas in a pod, best friends since birth, and they had a deep and abiding love for each other, but it would never be anything more than friendship to Anna. And Charlie had been okay with that. Her friendship meant more than the risk of telling Anna of her feelings and being rejected. She couldn’t lose Anna as her best friend. That would kill her more than hiding her romantic feelings for the rest of their lives. At least, Charlie had felt that way since she’d realized Anna would never romantically love her back. But Anna would meet her soulmate eventually, and then her and Charlie’s relationship would change. Charlie would have to share her with someone else, and she was beginning to realize that might be more painful than losing her completely._

_Anna’s voice called to her up the stairs. She’d apparently just got off work. Charlie pulled on a shirt and followed Anna’s voice to the kitchen, where she was humming while pouring herself some juice._

_“There you are!” Anna smiled tiredly at her roommate. “Well, I had a shit day, so I hope you’re in the mood for take-out, alcohol, and binging some mindless sitcom.”_

_Charlie shoved her own issues to the back her mind. She’d need to break things off eventually—soon, actually—but for tonight, she wanted nothing more than to make her best friend happy. “Yeah, that sounds perfect. I’ll order Thai and make Aviators. You go take a relaxing shower and get into your comfiest jammies. I’ll have Netflix queued up by the time you’re done._

_Anna’s whole body melted. “God, you’re perfect. How did I get so lucky to find you?”_

_Charlie ignored the ache in her heart. “Extreme luck, bitch.”_

_Anna shook her head and chuckled. “Give me twenty minutes.” She moved like she was going to pat Charlie’s arm, but Charlie stepped away, pretending that checking out their liquor cabinet was the highest priority. She couldn’t allow the touch. Not tonight._

_She heard Anna sigh, then head upstairs. Charlie took a deep breath, then pulled her phone from her pocket to order food. She didn’t even need to ask, she knew exactly what her best friend wanted._

_She managed to relax by the time Anna came back down (with the help of an Aviator shed ‘tested’ by throwing it back like water). Now they were in the living room, a spread of Thai food on the coffee table, fancy martini glasses filled with the blue gin drink Anna loved best. They were laughing at the antics on the screen and Anna’s accompanying color commentary. It was enough to almost make Charlie forget her earlier issues._

_She finally stopped gasping with laughter. “Oh em gee, Anna. Stop! My stomach hurts.”_

_Anna looked at her fondly. “No. I like you like this.”_

_Charlie frowned just a bit. “Like what? We laugh all the time.”_

_“And it’s always wonderful. But not just the laughing. Relaxed, happy … enjoying my company.”_

_“As if I could hate my best friend.” Charlie rolled her eyes. What was Anna getting at?_

_Anna’s brow furrowed. “Not lately.”_

_Right. Not as stealthy as she’d hoped, her pulling away bit by bit. She shrugged. “Just a little stressed with work. Both the boys were on a hunt this week. I hate that.”_

_Anna nodded. She understood. She hated when Cas was on a hunt as well, always worried for her brother’s safety. The Winchester’s might not be Charlie’s brothers by blood, but they were her only family now that her parents had died. She wasn’t ready to lose anyone else._

_Charlie shook herself free of the worry and melancholy. They’d been having fun. She wanted that back. “Oh, that reminds me!” And she launched into a story of the weird creature they’d dragged back to the bunker, along with the story Dean almost couldn’t tell for laughing so hard. Charlie was having the same problem now, and Anna wasn’t much better._

_Anna finally caught her breath and rubbed a laugh-tear from her eye. “Those boys can be so dumb sometimes!” She looked up at Charlie, and her smile was fond._

_After a minute, Charlie started to get self conscious. “What?” she finally asked._

_“I’m just really glad I have you, I guess. Also …” and here Anna’s smile turned sly, “you’ve got a little,” she pointed at Charlie’s nose._

_Charlie crossed her eyes trying to see, but all she saw was her nose. “Huh?”_

_Anna cleared her throat and leaned forward enough to reach Charlie’s nose with her thumb. “A little sauce,” she explained, swiping at the offending food._

_The ache in Charlie’s heart came back. She tried to push it down, but then Anna gasped, her hand clutching at her own heart. It took a few moments for Charlie to realize what was happening. This was not the usual internal heartache of unrequited love. It was a warm, not-painful burn on the skin covering her heart. What? No, it couldn’t- could it? Frozen as she was, she didn’t even think to look for physical evidence. Luckily, Anna was much smarter (she always was). She pulled down her v-neck tee to uncover her heart. As they both watched, an intricate pattern in delicate pinks and greens drew itself over her milk-pale skin._

_“Charlie!”_

_She expected for Anna to be upset or annoyed or something less than positive, but when Charlie raised her eyes to her best friend’s face, it was to see pure joy and happiness radiating from it._

_The pattern finished with a soft glow of gold before settling into Anna’s skin like it had always been there, like it was meant to be there._

_“Can I …” Anna carefully extended a hand to Charlie’s chest. Still in a daze, Charlie barely managed a nod of consent, her heart pounded hopefully in a glow of warmth. Could she be that lucky?_

_Anna pulled Charlie’s tee down just enough to see a matching pattern on her chest. Both women’s breaths hitched, and they looked at each other at the same instant._

_“You …?” Charlie tried, but couldn’t manage any other words._

_Anna was somehow more composed. “Yeah.” Her smile was a bit sardonic. “I’ve known for a little while now. Or, hoped. My feelings … they changed recently, and I kept trying to touch you, to find out for sure, but you kept pulling away. It worried me, that maybe you saw my feelings and didn’t want them, or didn’t want to disappoint me, if the mark didn’t appear. But I had to know. I_ did _know, in my heart. I_ knew _you’d be my soulmate. How could you not be?”_

_The shock was beginning to wear off just enough for Charlie to breathe again, to gather her own thoughts and feelings. “You really …?” Her words were shaky still._

_“I_ really _really.”_

_Charlie heaved out a sigh. “Good. Me too.”_

_“I know.” Anna’s hand slide from her chest, up her neck, and to her face, where she cupped it softly. “Can I kiss you?”_

_Charlie closed her stinging eyes. “Yes. Please.”_

***

“Hey man, how’s it hanging?”

Castiel looked up to see Charlie slide into the seat across the table from where he was cataloguing one of the archive rooms. For all their pride at being white tower academics, the Men of Letters archiving system left something to be desired. Or perhaps it was just some human quirk he didn’t yet understand. Or maybe never would. So much about humanity still eluded him. Dean’s face flashed across his thoughts, but he pushed it away.

“How can I help you, Charlie?”

She shrugged and propped her chin in a hand, using her other hand to idly flip through a notebook sitting on the table. “Just haven’t gotten to talk to you much since I arrived. Wanted to see how you’re doing, being human and living here now. Anything I can explain for you?”

He tilted his head in question. “I do not wish to learn hacking.”

She dropped the book and played with her hair. She was like Dean, never sitting still. It was fascinating to watch. Though … different. Dean was … in a category of his own, and somehow, he knew Charlie couldn’t help him figure out the one thing he longed to understand.

“Yeah, no. You’re definitely not the hacking type. But I am a human, after all, so if you have any burning questions about us, or, I dunno, relationships or something? I could help with that.”

He studied her closely. He might not know much about humans, but even he could tell she was playing an angle. He’d seen Dean and Sam do it often enough on the occasions they worked a case together.

“It’s just,” she began.

Humans always got flustered and kept speaking if he stayed silent too long. Why did they feel the need to always fill up silence? Sometimes it was nice to just _be_ in the same space as a person you cared about. He thought back to the months after rescuing Dean from hell, when he’d keep himself hidden just so he could sit quietly with the man who had caught his attention like no human before him. Dean was so different when he was alone. Sadder, mostly, but also, oddly, peaceful. Small things made him smile, like kids playing in the park, a friendly dog, an ad on the television. These days, Castiel couldn’t hide himself from watchful eyes, but he still liked sitting quietly with Dean. They’d eat their breakfast in silence sometimes, because neither of them was a morning person, or he’d sit down with a book next to Dean on his computer in the library. They’d share a smile, then go about their own activities in contented quietude. He liked those moments a lot.

“I write fanfic, right? And fic is all about character development. I’m practically a sociology PhD, with the amount of fic I’ve read and written. So I can totes help you figure humans out. Or, maybe, a particular human?” Her wide eyes, small smile, and hands clasped over her heart indicated hopefulness.

He understood now. Maybe she could help him after all. “Ah. Yes. You speak of the Dean Winchester slash Castiel stories.”

“Damn Winchesters!” she exclaimed, arms going up in apparent frustration.

No, he’d apparently misunderstood her meaning. “I apologize. Sam showed me your favorites. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No! No, no. You’re fine.” She brought her hands down and in front of her in a placating gesture. “It’s just, they keep taking all my fun away. I thought I’d get to show you myself. Explain the whole phenomenon to you, walk you through the best tropes, all that jazz.” Her hands fluttered around her before settling on the table. She frowned, her eyes downcast.

“I’ve read them,” he told her, “but I’m not sure I understand their purpose. Or. No. I understand the need to write stories of hope, love, and defying all odds. Humanity, for all of its flaws, is a fundamentally hopeful species. But why us? Why me and Dean specifically? We have the most stories out of any ‘ship’ pulled from the _Supernatural_ books.”

She put her hand back under her chin and tilted her head in thought. “Lots of reasons. Or, should I say, lots of tropes. You two hit the bingo card with the number of tropes you’ve crossed off.”

“You speak of the sub-genres of stories?” he asked.

Charlie nodded. “Oh yeah. Seriously, you two hit the motherload.” She held up a hand and began ticking off her list. “Damsel in distress, friends to lovers, free-wheeling Casanova and the virgin–”

“I’m not a virgin.” Not that it mattered. But it was untrue and therefore should not count.

She shrugged. “Close enough. World-weary man and the one who rebelled for him, each man sacrificing himself to keep the other safe–”

“I believe Dean and Sam meet that criterion more than Dean and I do.”

She waved that off. “We’re not touching Wincest—that’s my own personal ship name, bee-tee-dubs. Their last names aren’t mentioned in the books, but that ship name practically made itself—but that’s beside the point. You still hit the trope, even if other ships do too. And then we’ve got secret pining best friends, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved _romantic_ tension. And, wow, now that you’re human, if you, him, and Sam ever do a hunt together and stay in a hotel, you’ve got bedsharing, because most rooms just have two beds, and you guys aren’t going to shell out for a second room. And _then_ –”

“I understand, Charlie.” He knew both from Dean’s teasing and his own experience that she could go on for quite a while if not stopped.

“Right, yeah. Just one more. No, two more. Not tropes, but reasons. One,” she held up a finger, “you two ‘share a more profound bond’ because,” she held up a second finger, “you ‘gripped him tight and raised him from perdition!” She put her hand down and smiled smugly. “You’re _meant_ to be together.”

“Soulmates aren’t real,” he argued. As lovely as that would be, it just wasn’t how the world worked, no matter how profound a bond he and Dean shared.

“No, but circumstances still could not throw together two more perfectly suited people. Your respective storylines alone demand that you share a certain connection. Soulmates _do_ exist, but they aren’t found, they’re made. Two people who have the potential to share a strong connection meet, and they decide to make something of it. Free will, bitches.” Charlie ended her argument with a flutter of her fingers and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Castiel had felt hopeful hearing her words, until the end. There, her argument fell apart, and with it, his hope. “Except we haven’t chosen to make something of it. We’re just … friends. Dean- _We_ haven’t chosen anything more than that.”

Charlie leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye, her face serious but curious. “Do you enjoy reading them? The Destiel stories?” she asked.

He looked down at his hands and smiled. He felt his face heat in that human way he was still getting used to. “Yes. Very much.” Then he frowned. “And no. I enjoy how I feel while I read them, but when I’m done, I remember they’re only fiction, and then I’m sad again.”

One of her hands covered his. The connection calmed him a bit. He liked human contact. He wished he could experience it more.

“Where there’s hope, there’s possibility.” Her words were soft, but forceful. He looked up at her sincere face. A little smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “The bond between you two is real. You just have to allow it to change.”

“He doesn’t–” Castiel stopped himself. He had no right to ask anything of Dean.

“You don’t know that for sure. Maybe you should talk to him.”

He huffed out a short laugh. “Talk.”

“I know. It’s hard for a millions-year-old ex-angel and an emotionally constipated hunter to talk to each other. But it’s only way to change things. And … I think he wants change. He just needs a little push.” She shrugged. “But why take my word for it? I just read a lot of fanfic.”


	5. Promises, swear them to the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas and Dean get their heads out of their respective asses in real life

**_Castiel/Dean – friends to lovers, pining and fluff_ **

Charlie had only been at the bunker for a week, but Dean was ready for her to go again. Not that he didn’t love her or love having her around, but she had an agenda, and he didn’t like it. She’d been pushing the whole “Destiel” thing pretty hard. And he wasn’t doing himself any favors by binging fanfic under the cover of night. The stories had a pull he couldn’t get away from, though. He kept letting himself hope, and then he’d finish reading a story and remember it wasn’t reality. Cas didn’t want him, love him, like that. They were just best friends, and Cas was an ex-angel. What they had now was as good as it got. And it was good. Good enough that Dean didn’t want to ruin it on the off chance that a love confession would prompt Cas to declare is own love in return.

Yeah, he really liked those fics, where Dean manned up and it actually worked out. Usually Cas would tearfully share his own deep feelings for Dean, but sometimes Cas instead went wild and attacked him with passion. Either of those were great options. But they weren’t real life, unfortunately.

To distract himself, and steer clear of single-minded Charlie, Dean dropped by Sam’s room. They hadn’t talked much lately, with the Charlie whirlwind keeping them busy. They were due for a chat. Nothing heavy. Just brotherly banter. He knocked on Sammy’s door and entered without waiting.

Sam rolled his eyes but nodded at him from where he sat on his couch with his laptop. Fanfic? Dean knew he was reading it almost as much as Dean was himself. Though hopefully not the ones _about_ Dean. It was probably that weird Sabriel stuff. Not bad weird. Just funny to think of his boring, straight-laced brother with such a loose cannon like Gabriel. Amusing, but not his cup of tea.

Dean settled on the bed across from his brother.

“What’s up?” Sam asked, pushing his laptop aside to focus on Dean. Always so sincere, the little weirdo.

Dean shrugged. “Nada. Just thought I’d see how things are going. Any hunts pop up?”

“Not really,” Sam said with a grimace. “Staying quiet, which concerns me.”

“You and me both,” Dean said. He glanced around the room, noticing a new corkboard covered with pictures. He studied it—him and Sam, baby Sam with Mary and John, the three Winchester men in front of the Impala, individual pictures of Bobby and Garth and Jody, Cas and Sam, Dean and Cas. Dean straightened. Sam and Jess. Huh.

“Wow, haven’t seen that one in a while,” he said without thinking, pointing to the last picture in the bottom right corner. Then he grimaced. Probably not good to bring up the dead girlfriend.

Sam glanced where Dean pointed, but instead of looking sad, he looked … accepting. Nostalgic, but not heartbroken. “Yeah,” he agreed. Found all of those when I was cleaning the other day, thought it would be good to finally put them up. They aren’t doing much good in a box in the wardrobe.”

Dean, who had his own pictures in a box, only hummed.

“I still miss her sometimes, you know? But mostly, I’m just happy I had her for a while.” Sam’s gaze was vacant with memory. “And now …” Sam’s look sharpened, resolved. “I’m ready to move on, for real.”

The words calmed something in Dean’s heart that he didn’t know had kept him tense for so long. All he wanted was for Sammy to be safe and happy. And because they were who they were, neither had really had a chance of that. But he was coming to realize they couldn’t wait for it show up, they had to take it for themselves. He might be a hopeless case, what with wanting someone who didn’t want him, but Sam could have it. He thought back to a recent case.

“You and that cute banshee hunter, what was her name, Eileen?” He grinned at Sam’s blushing face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you learning sign language lately.”

“It’s- no- it’s just- I’m just trying to be polite,” Sam sputtered, defending his actions. “She’s always dealing with people who can’t sign. It’d be nice for her to see someone speak in a way that’s easier for her to understand.”

Dean smirked. “Sure thing, Romeo.” Sam shot him a bitchface, which he ignored, like always. Dean thought he had her number saved in his phone, and he resolved to start talking his brother up to her (by text, of course), seeing if she was interested back. She sure looked like she had been, by the end of that banshee case. And if she really was, well, Dean would have to learn some signs too. He yawned then. Stayed up too late reading lately …

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you to your,” he waved his hand at all of Sam and the couch, “whatever. You should give her a call sometime.”

With a wink, he was out the door to the chorus of Sam’s further sputtering. He was so distracted he didn’t see or hear Cas until they’d slammed into each other as he rounded the corner. With an ‘oof!’ Cas began to fall backward, but Dean’s hunter reflexes (and fear of anything happening to the now-human Cas) grabbed him in time to keep him upright … and far too close to Dean for comfort. He let go like Cas was a hot brick and backed up.

“Sorry, man, didn’t notice you.”

A discombobulated Cas straightened his clothes and nodded. “I, too, was distracted. Apologies.”

Dean nodded and started walking again toward his room. Being around Cas these days was not a good idea. Too much pining that might be noticed. Unfortunately, Cas didn’t get the memo. He followed Dean to his room and stood in the door while Dean pretended to be busy finding a record and starting it up on his portable record player. After a minute, he rolled his eyes and waved his best friend in the room. Cas’s face lit up in way that, one, made Dean feel bad for avoiding him lately, and two, made him want to do more things to bring out that expression on his face. Doing things for Cas was addictive. Which was why Dean had been steering clear lately.

He waved him to the couch, and took the bed for himself, lying down to avoid eye contact. “What’s up?”

A rustle of cloth and movement out of the side of his eye let Dean know Cas had shrugged. “Bored, I guess.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, me too, man. Sam’s working on rustling up a case, but nothing yet.”

Cas hummed. “It’s a bit disturbing, that we’re hoping for some poor person’s life to go wrong enough that they need our help.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Dean said. “I think being a hunter requires you to be at least a little fucked up.” Then, without thought, he let his dumb mouth keep going. “Makes me wonder why you chose this, when you removed your grace.” He closed his eyes and grimaced. _Smart, Winchester, just bring up the one thing you’ve avoided talking about._ He was afraid to know. Afraid to know why Cas had stayed. Afraid to learn that he’d eventually leave. Just afraid.

Cas was silent for long enough that Dean finally worked up the courage to look at him. Instead of being upset or confused or any other negative expression Dean worried he’d make, Cas looked … fond. Soft. Adorable. Dean shut his eyes. He was seeing things. He didn’t get to have fond. Not really.

“Because people need our help. I can’t know what I do about the supernatural and _not_ help.”

Dean gave a slightly bitter chuckle. That had been his excuse for years. But lately he wondered if he really was so fucked up that he needed the danger, needed to be the savior just to feel alive.

“You’re wrong, Dean.”

“What?” Dean whipped his head around and opened his eyes to look at Cas.

“You think wanting the hunter life means there’s something wrong with you, but you’re wrong. Yes, you might be an adrenaline addict, but every decision you make is out of love and caring. If you want to help people, it’s got very little to do with monsters and everything to do with love.” Cas stood up, walked over to the bed, and sat down by Dean’s hip so that he loomed over him, still with that fond expression on his face.

Dean sat up to put him on the same level as Cas, but he didn’t scoot away like he should. Sometimes, even though being close hurt, it was also the best feeling ever. There had been a connection between them from the start, and just because it had become skewed on his end didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He gave himself a moment to drink it in, to be selfish for just a little while.

“I have learned something,” Cas said so softly Dean almost couldn’t understand the words, even though they were only breaths apart, “from reading Charlie’s favorite fanfictions about us.”

Dean heart stuttered. Cas knew. Reading the fics had made him see what had been in front of him for years: that his best friend had been pining for him like a fifteen-year-old in one of those high school AUs. Or, like Dean did in _most_ of the stories in the Dean/Cas tag. _Shit_.

He opened his mouth to apologize or defend himself or make up excuses or something, but Cas kept talking.

“I learned that I can be brave. That I can ask for the things I wish for. That I deserve happiness, and so do you.”

Now Dean’s heart was beating double time. Was Cas implying what he thought he was? He clenched suddenly sweaty hands and gulped. He went through a million replies in his head. He should distract, he should avoid. They couldn’t have this. _He_ couldn’t have this, no matter what Cas said. Happiness wasn’t his to take. It–

A calloused palm cupped his jaw, and Dean’s eyes flew open, all thoughts forgotten with just that small bit of connection. Cas still looked fond, but also happy and hopeful and maybe a bit nervous. Dean swallowed again, his tongue swollen and dry with apprehension.

“So I’m going to be brave and ask for what I want.”

Dean bit his lip and held his breath, not sure which way he wanted this to go, now that it was so close. This was nothing like the fics he read. Well, it was, nerves and swollen tongue and all, but it was completely different because _it was actually happening_. It wasn’t a story written by someone else, it wasn’t him living vicariously through a fictional story. This was real. Cas was real. Dean, sweaty armpits and all, was real.

“Can I kiss you?” Cas asked, soft but somehow loud in Dean’s echoing ears.

Somehow Dean got his body under control long enough to nod shakily. Then Cas beamed at him like he’d done earlier, and something warm and calm settled in Dean’s chest. He closed his eyes and leaned in and was met by warm lips— _Cas’s_ lips. He couldn’t help the smile that widened his own, and he felt the movement reflected by Cas. Cas! Cas’s lips! Cas’s lips on his! Smiling! He pulled back just enough to see that grin.

“I like brave you,” Dean whispered before diving back in. Cas’s chuckle morphed into a hum and then a moan. And then things went from Teen to Explicit, and there was no way he’d share that with anyone else.


	6. Fall back in love eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlie gets a real life HEA

**_Charlie/Dorothy – HEA_ **

Charlie heard rumbled laughter as she walked past Dean’s closed door, then murmurs that let her know exactly who was in there with him and what they were probably doing. Since she stuck with the Teen rating for Destiel fics, she hurried past, though she allowed herself a smile of triumph. When she reached her room, she saw her duffle and it reminded her that now that the computers and Destiel were fixed, she didn’t have anything keeping her there. Granted, the guys would let her stay as long as she wanted, but she was probably keeping them from hunts or something. She didn’t really fit into their lives, even if they called her a sister. She didn’t fit in anywhere, really. Not since her parents … and then there was Oz and Dorothy, but that hadn’t ended well either.

She put her duffle on her bed, but couldn’t make herself pack up quite yet. Maybe she’d get the guys a case, then hit the road when they did. That would force her out. Resolved, she tossed her duffle aside and laid on her bed, just to rest her eyes for a few minutes. Then she’d set up an auto search for a hunt …

***

Charlie jolted awake to yells and shaking. Shaking? Earthquake? Later, she liked to think that her dashing out of her room instead of hunkering in a doorway was because she was confident that the MoL had built an earthquake-proof bunker, but she knew her fight or flight were still stuck in flight mode, after being pulled so abruptly from sleep.

She dragged open her door and sprinted down the corridor toward the sounds of yelling. She found everyone in the kitchen as the shaking stopped. Sam’s hair was a poufy rat’s nest from sleep, but at least he wore more clothes than Dean and Cas, who were both only in boxers—Dean’s inside out. Charlie averted her eyes and looked where the guys were standing in front a hole in the wall. She could hear what sounded like sword fighting, yelling, and the whistle of a strong wind. She peered into the hole, squinting in the dark. She could make out the outline of several people ganged up against a single person who had their back to Charlie, but the single person continued to fight. It wasn’t until they let out a cocky laugh that Charlie realized why their shape looked familiar.

“Dorothy?” No, Dorothy was dead. Charlie had abandoned her in Oz, too cowardly to ever find a way to go back to learn what happened to her for sure, but knowing in her heart that she was gone.

“What?!?” Dean came up behind Charlie, looking over her shoulder into the darkness of the hole. “Shit, yeah,” he said when Dorothy made a half turn that put her face in stark relief from the kitchen light. Charlie’s heart clenched, seeing that beloved outline.

“A little help, doll?” Dorothy yelled over her shoulder before managing a hit on one of the people fighting her.

Charlie jolted from a daze and turned to her friends. “Keep any swords handy?” Charlie asked hopefully. She wasn’t sure Dorothy could last until they could grab something from one of their rooms.

Luckily, Dean gave her a ‘do you know me at all?’ glare and he, Sam, and Cas spread around the room, returning with two guns and a short sword. Huh, she’d somehow missed finding those when she’d looked for snacks the other day. Despite the narrow passage, Sam and Dean managed to hit their marks with their guns, but the third fighter was too close to Dorothy to go in for a shot. Cas managed to slip the sword below Dorothy’s outstretched arm and stab the man.

Not waiting to see if they were all dead, Dorothy pushed Cas back into the kitchen and followed after. With a bloody hand, Dorothy slapped a glowing sigil that was at head height on the wall next to the hole. The sigil flashed purple, then faded to nothing, as did the hole, leaving the wall as pristine as it had been last time Charlie had been in the room.

Dorothy rubbed her sweaty brow with her arm, avoiding the blood on her hand. Then she turned to everyone with a grin. “I’m back, bitches.”

“Dot?” Charlie’s voice was barely a breath. “Dorothy?” She tried again with slightly more luck. “How? What? I thought …?”

“Hey, hey, babe.” Dorothy looked like she was going to reach out her bloody hand, then glimpsed the blood. She grimaced, looked around, and then apparently decided her pants would do for a towel. She wiped the blood off as best she could, but was enveloped by Charlie’s arms before she could make any further moves.

Charlie heard a soft sigh in her ear as she let Dorothy’s warmth seep into her. She smelled of sweat, blood, and the bright bite endemic to Oz. “Are you real? Is this a dream? Am I dying?”

“Hey, hey,” Dorothy said again, pulling back enough to cup her palm around Charlie’s jaw. “You knew I’d find another way through eventually.”

“No! I mean, not that.” Charlie closed her eyes and shook her head, as if to clear her vision of what surely must be an apparition, no matter how solid she felt. “You’re dead. I saw- I saw …” A sob caught in her throat, and she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What? No. I’m fine. See?” Dorothy pulled back a couple of steps, and Charlie’s arms felt bereft.

“You- you–”

“What Charlie means,” Dean stepped in to explain, “is that the last she saw of you, you were being overwhelmed by the Wizard’s soldiers. She saw you go down. There was …” he grimaced, “a lot of blood.”

Dorothy pulled Charlie back to her, hugging her tight. “No, Char. No, I’m _fine_. It wasn’t my blood. I set off the spell bomb we’d been working on. And yeah, I’ve got a couple of new, impressive scars to show for the scuffle, but I was fine. I _am_ fine. See?” This time, instead of stepping away, she took Charlie’s hands and put them on her own face, letting Charlie feel the warmth, the life in it. Then she leaned her head in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Charlie’s lips.

Charlie gasped another sob. “I thought you were _dead_. I thought I left you to die!”

“You didn’t.” Dorothy’s forehead rocked against Charlie’s. “You went, just like we’d planned. I fought off the baddies, just like we planned. I found you, just like we planned.”

Charlie wanted to stay there forever, but she knew she needed to be practical.

“I want to believe you, but …”

Dorothy smiled in understanding. “You should do some tests. To make sure I’m me. Yeah.”

***

Charlie sat at a library table across from Dorothy. The guys had spent most of the night performing every test they could think of (after getting dressed, thank _God_ ) while Charlie brainstormed for any way a bad guy could trick her into thinking the person in front of them was Dorothy, but at around five in the morning, Dean had called it quits. They’d done every test imaginable, and a few Charlie hadn’t imagined, and it seemed that Dorothy was … really Dorothy.

Everyone else went back to bed, but Charlie couldn’t move from her spot, still in shock and disbelief. Dorothy had stayed too, just watching her. She didn’t try to argue her case or convince Charlie of anything. She just sat there. She’d spent the time during the tests explaining what had happened after Charlie had left Oz. That she had won her skirmish, then regrouped with the rest of their army, only to learn the Wizard had disappeared. Sam had explained Charlie’s side, about Clive summoning the Wizard to Earth, and Charlie killing them both. Dorothy explained how peace had finally come to Oz, but they hadn’t known what had happened to the Wizard, though she suspected his disappearance was due to Charlie’s actions in some way. And then she’d spent all of her time since then finding a way back to Earth. Some sort of spell, though Charlie was too dazed to hold on to the details.

So now they sat, just looking at each other: Dorothy fond and tired, Charlie too scared to believe her own eyes.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Dorothy finally said with her trademark grin.

Charlie closed her eyes and shook her head, but she felt the beginnings of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Maybe she _could_ have happiness. “I just can’t believe it’s really you.”

“We can start the tests all over again.”

“No, not like that. Just. I’ve spent the last few months thinking you’re dead, that I’d left you to die. But here you are. It’s like a dream come true.” She furrowed her brow. “A djinn dream …”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s possible, from your point of view,” Dorothy conceded. “Just remember that djinn dreams are too perfect, too bright, too happy. You’ve got to look for the, what do you call, the glitch in the matrix, the …”

“Uncanny valley,” Charlie murmured, thinking back to a fic she’d once wrote.

Though the words were unfamiliar to her, Dorothy seemed to understand their meaning. “Yeah.”

“What if you are just a product of djinn poison, and you’re just telling me what I want to hear?”

Dorothy leaned over the corner of the table to put her hand to the side of Charlie’s head, sweeping a thumb over her cheek. “Then keep watching. Just promise me you won’t try to suicide your way out unless you have incontrovertible proof.”

Charlie reluctantly agreed with a nod. “Okay.”

***

A week later found the two women in Kansas City. Charlie wasn’t completely convinced it wasn’t all a djinn dream quite yet, but she thought going out into the wider world would help. If it was fake, the glitch would be easier to see when the dream had to produce more than four other people for Charlie to interact with. So they’d packed up and said adios to the guys, then headed out on the open road. On Dorothy’s bike, which was so hot.

“Ugh, my ass hurts,” Charlie complained, rubbing said ass in a diner seat where they’d stopped for an early dinner. “Guess this means we’re probably _not_ in a dream.”

Dorothy smirked while she perused the laminated menu in front of her. “I’d apologize, but you look really adorable on the back of my bike.”

Though they’d slept in the same bed for the last week, with Charlie unable to let her out of her sight for longer than five minutes, they’d avoided the more romantic and sexual aspects their relationship had had in Oz. And Dorothy seemed okay with waiting, but Charlie was getting antsy enough that the flirty words were a relief.

“I mean, I’m no slave Leia straddling a twenty-sided die, but I guess I’m not too bad,” Charlie shot back, feeling her heart settle at the return to their usual flirty banter.

She could see the relief in Dorothy’s return wink as well. “Not too bad at all.” She put her menu down and looked at Charlie seriously. “What now?”

“Now that I’m beginning to believe you’re really here and neither of us are dead?”

The server interrupted them then to take their orders, but she returned to the conversation as soon as the woman left them.

“We can always go back to Oz,” Charlie suggested.

Dorothy nodded thoughtfully. “We could.”

“Or?” Charlie prompted, taking a drink of water. Talking about the future still freaked her out a little. Or maybe a lot. Majorly a lot. She’d never really been able to plan much of a future before. She’d always been running or fighting.

“Or you can show me around this brave new world I slept through. I’ve seen you doing your thing with your …” Dorothy waved her hand at Charlie’s bag, which contained her laptop and tablet, “gadgets. You’re very good, from what Sam tells. Oz took you away from what you excel at. Maybe we should stay here. Let you be your genius best self.”

“And what would you do?”

Dorothy shrugged. “Learn this new world.”

“It’s not yours, not the one you remember, or the one you got used to in Oz.”

“I’m adaptable,” Dorothy argued. “And this place as monsters, same as I’ve always dealt with. It can’t be so different. I’ll do the fighting part. You keep me safe with your computer research/Woman of Letters thing.”

Charlie huffed a laugh. “I can be your Q?”

Dorothy frowned in confusion. “If a Q is a thing that keeps hunters safe, then sure?”

And there it was. That last piece of belief that this was all fake drifted away. Dorothy was real, this world was real. Charlie breathed deep and slow. She leaned over the table and pressed a quick kiss to Dorothy’s lips. “I’d love to be your Q.”

She felt Dorothy’s smile and the hot breath of words she whispered. “A new adventure with you. I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my sort-of Femslash February entry. It was very fun to write. :) If comments are your thing, please drop me a line! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have something to say, drop me a comment here or come babble excitedly at me on Tumblr [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


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